


Carrier

by Theycallmemimi (Pantouffle)



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:00:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantouffle/pseuds/Theycallmemimi
Summary: In a world where male mothers are shunned and abused, Zayn hides under a cloak of neutrality.  How will he cope when a one night stand with Liam leaves him dangerously pregnant and alone?





	1. Chapter 1

9 months ago

Two minutes. That's how long the decision took. Precisely the length of time it took for the elevator to travel from the foyer to the seventeenth floor, disgorging its passengers in fits and starts, until they were the sole occupants. It had been crowded when they'd got into the cabin, and the two had been forced to press against easy other to let everyone in. But, even as the space opened up, Liam had kept his back pressed against Zayn's chest. At level 10, Liam reached around, and gently, inquisitively, thrummed his fingertips against Zayn's back pocket. Zayn wondered if he could feel the explosive pulse of his heartbeat through his damp grey shirt. 

 

Five seconds. That's how long it took for Liam to spin around and, with careful precision, push his hips against Zayn's and, taking exquisite care, press a kiss onto his lips. 

 

One second. That's all it took for four years of gentle friendship to catalyse into something fiery and ferocious and wonderful. 

 

Zayn hooked his breath for a second, before pushing back, surprising himself with the ferocity of his need. One hand travelled to tangle with Liam's hair, the other to his lower back, pulling him closer, guiding the urgent thrusts that he eagerly answered. Senseless to anything but him - warm and intoxicating and everything, everything he needed. Zayn fumbled to unlock his hotel door, laughing with Liam at his feverish attempts to hold the keycard in place.

 

The two crossed the threshold, and for a few moments, stood in silence, weighing up the prepuce they were about to leap, the enormity and ridiculousness of the situation. Liam broke the spell, grabbing Zayn's t-shirt and pulling him to the bed, a wry smile on his face. Zayn felt the mattress dip as the pair fell into the bed, Liam's hands working overtime to wrestle the buttons of his shirt apart, punctuating his movements with sharp kisses along Zayn's jawline, down his neck, into the deep hollows of his collarbones. His tongue flicked back and forward, pushing into Zayn's inviting caramel skin, down his chest, into the rivulets of his flat stomach as his t-shirt was pulled away. 

 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, beneath the chaos of ecstasy and synaptic fireworks, a small curious voice wondered when Zayn was to suggest they pause to rummage for a condom. How he was going to broach it. Liam didn't even know they needed one. It was never an issue. And now they'd come so far, he didn't want to stop - to initiate the conversation that would pull the thread that unravelled the universe he'd carefully constructed. And then Liam's hands were tugging at the waist band to his jeans, his fingers pressing tiny circles into his skin, lower and lower. And then everything was lost. 

 

In the afterglow, wrapped firmly in Liam's arms, smothered beneath the plush hotel duvet, Zayn allowed himself to relax, to take in Liam's familiar scent. It was a consensus that didn't need to be spoken - this could never happen again. It shouldn't have happened at all. But, nestled in the crook of dawn, sheltered from the coming day, he could revel in the fact that it did. 

 

\-----------

8 months ago

Tiredness has seeped into Zayn's bones. He folds himself into the nearest available chair at every opportunity. He doesn't care how he looks. He can't bring himself to stand up straight, draping himself over any available table, shoulder, or bar that presents itself. At the end of every show he trembles for his bed, joints singing with pain and stomach growling in irritation at yet another missed meal as he hauls himself onto the tour bus. He's jealous of his time alone, evading the others with their endless bouncy energy and banter. All he wants is to be to be allowed sleep, to curl under the covers and find the respite that never seems to come.

 

It might help if he could eat a few decent meals, but food has lost its appeal. Fruit has a waxy sugary cast. Bread is mulchy and stale tasting. The slightest aroma of freshly brewed coffee has him gagging. Even alcohol smells sharp and noxious. Empty as his body is, still sickness comes. Across a myriad of hotel rooms, Zayn rises in the dim light of the early rising sun to choke up bile, dizzy and slick with sweat. 

 

He should see a doctor he thinks, but that would bring a whole cavalcade of issues to the fore. Even the most basic blood test would reveal that he's a fertile carrier. Albeit a very late blooming one. Late enough that in his basic physical assessment in school, they marked him as neutral. That is, incapable of impregnating or carrying. But he never felt like a neutral. And, by the time he had his first bleed at the age of 17, he'd seen enough of the abuse male carriers received to never every want to reveal his true nature. 

 

He'd watched as the government had put in measures to take male carrier's children away at the slightest provocation, saying their blend of physical strength and hormonal volatility made them unsuitable candidates to be parents. He'd seen how the papers fetishised and bullied them in equal measure, reducing them to sex objects one moment, helpless idiots the next.

 

Zayn had never felt like he was out of control. He'd never played on his looks to manipulate others. And he'd certainly never intended to deceive anyone. He just wanted to be free to be himself - and if that meant going through life under the facade of a neutral, then so be it. He just prays that this virus - and that's all it could be, he assures himself - burns itself out soon. 

 

\-----------

7 months ago

Palms slippery with anxiety, Zayn pulls his cap down low and, taking one last furtive look around to make sure he isn't followed, slips into the clinic. It looks unassuming enough. An upmarket townhouse in a very well heeled Mayfair street. He's early, but he doesn't care. It took a lot of research to find this place, and this was the only window he could snatch to come here, flying in on private jet under the pretence of visiting a tattoo artist for the weekend. 

 

Abortions for males are illegal in all but the rarest cases, too dangerous, too complex for most surgeons to risk attempting. Male carrier physiology is a rarity to most doctors, further complicating matters. But when Zayn saw the plus sign appear on the disposable test he'd pocketed in a New York drugstore, it was all he could think of. 

 

The nausea has intensified, and it's rare he keeps anything down. His cheeks are hollow and the collar bones that Liam once dusted with kisses now loom high and stark above his sunken frame. The only thing that hasn't shrunk is his stomach, the small hard bulge in his midriff giving way slightly as the doctor pushes the ultrasound wand over and around his belly. After a few moments, she calls for a nurse, and the two have a whispered conversation in the corner. 

 

For one dizzy moment, Zayn thinks the doctor is about to tell him it's all been a mistake, he's not pregnant at all. He can clean himself up and get on with his life. But she doesn't. Apologetically, they tell him that the way his womb lies will make abortion impossible. That nothing can be done that wouldn't introduce catastrophic internal bleeding, and no responsible medic would ever tell him otherwise. 

 

He sinks back on the bed in disbelief, tears rolling down his cheeks as he attempts to wipe of the goo they used to do the ultrasound. Silent sobs wrack his body. He's never been physically strong, especially when compared to the likes of Liam. But today, for the first time, he truly knows what it is to not be in control of his body.

 

Later that afternoon, they get him to slide off his boxers off, harness him into an institutional pair of stirrups, and perform a full internal physical. Zayn bites his lip as they slide the probe up between his legs, pushing it back and forth to get a clear picture of his physiology. 

 

The results aren't good. Thanks to his narrow frame, the pregnancy will be exceptionally painful, even by the normal male standards. And labour, when it comes, will be long and difficult. Possibly fatal, if he doesn't get the medical intervention he needs. Intervention that would expose him to the world for the fraud that he is, alienating him from everything he's worked so hard for and everyone he's ever loved. 

 

The clinic tell him they're sorry, but there's nothing else they can do for him until the moment the baby comes, and even then it'll have to be off-site. Zayn understands. The work they do has to be secret. Accepting cases like his would open them up to exposure if there was a death on the premise, robbing fellow male carriers in trouble of their last resort.

 

He staggers out into the London drizzle, pulling his jacket tight against the cold. Across the street, a happy man and woman stroll by. The woman's hand is resting lightly on a neat round baby bump, the man's arm drawing her protectively to his side. Zayn watches them mournfully as they pass by. Pain gnaws at his gut. He's used to lying by omission, to subterfuge and hiding, but in all the years of deception, he's never felt so utterly alone and hopeless.

 

\------------ 

6 months ago

Liam comes to his room, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. The silence has broken him. What was supposed to be a respite from longing has broken him. He can't stand to be around Zayn and not touch him, hold him, watch him throw his head back to laugh and not join in.

Zayn swallows. He wants to be strong, to spare Liam from further heartache, but he can't. He's so cold and tired and scared. All he wants is to be held, for someone to comfort him in the dark terror of 3am, when the baby's kicks feel like an ominous warning of what's to come. So he crumbles, melting into Liam like butter on a skillet. 

He feels Liam's intake of breath as his hands run down Zayn's knobbly back, feeling bones that once were tucked well away under gentle curves. He's too dismayed by Zayn's weight loss to notice the gentle rise of his previously taut stomach. 

Liam follows Zayn to the bathroom at 5am, rubbing his shoulders when the heaving begins. Resting his head on the cold lid, Zayn feels a jolt as two strong hands lift him up and manoeuvre him back to bed. He tells Liam he's been having some anxiety issues, and generously, Liam agrees not to press the issue further. He falls back into a deep and dreamless sleep as Liam gazes on, rubbing Zayn's feathery hair through his fingers. Even in repose, He looks troubled and drawn, and Liam swears to himself that, as long as he wants him, he'll be there. That one night could never contain the feelings they had - still have, he hopes - for each other. A force has been unleashed, rather than stilled, and there's no going back. 

For Zayn, Liam's acceptance of his half-truths feels like grace, and he accepts it, preferring the fiction to reality. Even as he lies, the truth is becoming more pressing, stomach muscles bowing and curving to accommodate the growing load, the waistband of his jeans burning red welts into his skin. Fitted trousers and tight t-shirts give way to accommodating sweatbands, basketball tops and hoodies. 

Liam cups his delicate cheekbones in his palms and tells him he is beautiful. He rubs out the knots in Zayn's lower back. He never says anything about the weight gain, even as Zayn grabs his palm and guides it away from his midriff, wrapping it firmly over his shoulders before they fall asleep. 

\------------  
5 months ago

Under Liam's care, Zayn starts to drop his guard. The nausea is abating, and he's making an effort to nourish his aching body. Even on starvation rations, the baby is growing, getting bigger with every day. Male carrier tend to carry smaller in pregnancy than females, especially in his case, with his womb lying towards his back. But there's no denying the gentle slope of his stomach that when he stands sideways to the mirror.

There's also no denying that in no time at all, the moment will come when Zayn has to give birth, and he wants to make himself as strong as possible for what is to come. He's even started practicing yoga, sheepishly dragging a mat around from room to room, using snatched windows of time to practice breath control. His begins to feel more supple, and his skin begins to regain the golden tone that Liam has always admired. Liam watches on fondly, delighted with Zayn's elevated mood. 

One night, elated after a successful show and full of pizza, Zayn is relaxed enough to pass out on top of Liam's duvet, not even waiting for darkness to hide his blossoming curves. Idly, Liam runs his fingers under the hem of Zayn's sweatshirt, which has ridden up over the compact bump beneath. Flattening his palm, Liam begins to stroke the warm skin beneath, noticing for the first time the swelling beneath. Suddenly he hears a gasp, and Zayn's eyes fly open. Wordlessly, Zayn reaches for the covers and rolls to his side.

Liam is abashed, realising he's overstepped a boundary he didn't even know was there. Apologising softly, he smoothed the blanket over Zayn, deeply guilty. He doesn't know when this body insecurity took root, but it's getting worse by the day. Liam resolves to redouble his efforts to make Zayn feel better. He'd much rather have a happy lover than an insecure one, and if that means ignoring a little weight gain, so be it.

\-------------

4 months ago

The band has three weeks respite from tour, and Zayn is relishing the time away from the spotlight. He drapes himself in old, baggy clothes and hides from the world. He can't be idle though. While Liam is occupied reacquainting himself with his family, he is making plans and preparations for what is to come. He's investigating adoption, preparing supplies for the birth, and reading. He's reads obsessively, watches anything he can that might give him hope. Zayn has to believe he can do this. There's so much to hope for now - he has to fight this, even if he's doing it all alone. 

By his calculations, they'll be back in England five weeks before the birth. Two weeks of work, then he has two months to deal with himself. To get back in shape, to take back his life and his body. He's assured himself everything will be fine. It has to be, because he can't face the alternative. 

\-------------

3 months ago 

Back pain twists his posture into that of a man forty years his senior. He has to pretend he's injured himself in the gym. This also provides a good foil for his hips, which complain every time he walks. The spectre of waddling when he moves is never far from his mind, and he tries to stay as stationary as possible. He's started to limit his water intake in an attempt to limit his trips to the bathroom. Hardest of all is just getting through the days though, being as energetic and alert as the others. He would give anything to just sleep the time away. Worry nibbles into his dreams and doubt shadows his quiet moments. The only time he feels calm is sinking into bed with Liam - and even then, he must be constantly on guard. 

One night, he arrives in Liam's room to see a male fertile carrier protest flickering on the TV screen. There have been reports that male carriers are at increased risk of kidnap, so prized are they for their rarity. The news abounds with reports of male mothers losing their children, having them wrenched from their arms by local authorities, never to be found again. Some say the military is involved. Some say the children are being sold to wealthy foreign buyers. 

Nobody knows where they go, in truth. Whatever happens, Zayn needs to know this life inside him will be safe and loved, after all he's put it through, he wants to make things right. 

The parents pop up on breakfast shows, hollow eyed, angry, exhausted. A young star who was recently found to be capable of carrying has lost his record deal - who will want him now he's not dominant? 

Zayn makes a point of changing the channel, claiming there's a movie he wants to watch. Liam can't suspect for a moment, or how could he ever want him? So much is riding on just getting through the next three months. Even flying is a huge gamble, but it's inescapable. There are just four trips, and he's home. He can do this. For him, and for the baby. 

\-------------

2 months ago

The final trip is the worst. Three hours hemmed into a small seat, swinging his legs back and forth to keep the blood flowing, hiding beneath a blanket where the seat belt cuts into his midriff. And there's no respite when he lands. There is an intense schedule to accommodate, and no sooner have they touched down then they're off to a radio interview. 

That ache in his spine is relentless. He can't sleep, he can't get comfortable. He can't even get a massage, not without feeling an uncomfortable crushing sensation in his stomach. Running down a corridor for a talk show appearance, he feels something pull deep within his left leg. It's too much for one body to take. He can't pretend for much longer. He's doing his best to keep a brave face on, but the mask is crumbling. People are frustrated with his laziness, his slowness, the way he keeps tuning out. Even Liam seems inclined to leave him to his own devices. And perhaps that's for the best, Zayn thinks, when he mulls over what's to come.


	2. Chapter 2

\------------

6 weeks ago

On the final day, there is a fashion shoot, both individual and group. Zayn is keenly aware of this. A deep wrenching pain jolted him awake at 4am, and he spent three hours staring at the calendar, talking himself into pulling it together for this last hurdle. The spasms have kept coming - and they're getting more intense. He so badly needs to just get through the day though, then he can rest. That's all he needs, he assures himself. 

Zayn turns up to the shoot white faced and shivering. The makeup artist is frustrated. He can tell from the angry way she keeps laying on the powder. They think he's hungover, showing up to work incapable of doing that most basic of tasks, and they're punishing him for it. He plays up to it, claiming he was out with an old friend, requesting a greasy lunch.

 

Watching Zayn from across the room, Liam is the only one not buying it. He sees the way Zayn's face drops when nobody is watching. The urgent way he clenches his fists until the bone shows through, breathing through the pain. What he can't work out is why he doesn't tell him what's wrong. 

The day creeps by, slow as treacle. Zayn doesn't remember much of his session. He spends most of it desperate to crumple into a ball, to quietly ride the waves of agony. He has to settle for squeezing it into the frame of the chair they have him leaning into, pulsing his palms in time to the tremors of his hands, dipping his knee to rest as often as possible.

Liam finds himself positioned behind Zayn for the group shots. He reaches out to give him a reassuring stroke on the back, to find Zayn's shirt is drenched in sweat. He's visibly quivering. 

 

While Liam is changing, Zayn slips away, back to the safety of his flat. He makes it through the door just in time. A catastrophic ripping from within has him on his knees, floored and helpless. That movement has wedged the baby's head firmly into place for the birth, and his tight hips are locked with it. They told him at the clinic this could happen, and he tries very hard to still his fear. If he keeps breathing through it, it should eventually pass as the baby moves down the canal. But for now, he's effectively immobilized.

 

Puffing and panting against the his discomfort, Zayn drags himself as far as his kitchen. He presses his cheek against the coolness of the floor, digging his fingernails into the lino as what he now recognises to be contractions come and go. It's dark, but he can't gather the strength to turn on the light. He can just about haul himself up on his elbows, but that's as far as his body will go. He wants to bed in his bed so badly, to comfort himself with the things he's stashed in the cupboard to help for the birth, but he's worried any further jolting could cause more damage.

 

At some point, the door buzzer sounds, sharp and insistent, but it sounds very far away. Abstractly, he wishes he'd remembered to draw the chain on the door before he collapsed. Zayn assumes Liam will be on the wrap party, like any normal person would be, celebrating the end of another successful tour. He's so grateful he can't see him like this, so pitiful and helpless.

 

He loses track of the time, but the explosion of his waters reassures him that the labour is progressing, that one way or another this will be over. His tracksuit trousers are saturated, clinging uncomfortably to his legs. Even the slightest movement is agony now, the wet fabric chafing his skin. He's laying flat on his back now, trying to keep his knees raised as far as he can, willing the baby to come with every exhale. 

 

Liam was supposed to be on a snowboarding trip the week the baby was due, if things had gone according to schedule, spending time with friends from home. But with this unexpectedly early start to proceedings, all of Zayn's carefully stitched plans are rapidly unravelling. When he hears the unmistakable sound of a key finding purchase in the lock, panic sends his heart thumping. He never thought he'd lose control of the situation like this. 

 

After Zayn ditched him at the shoot, angry and hurt, Liam spent the evening driving aimlessly, sorting through the frustrations in his mind as he weaved through the city traffic. His phone buzzes with messages from people expecting him at the wrap party, but he ignores them. He's in no mood for company. He's frustrated with Zayn's behaviour, and he can't understand it. And now Zayn won't take his calls or look at his messages. He realises this isn't the kind of anger he can sleep away though. If Zayn doesn't have the courage to face him, he's going to bring the fight to him. 

 

Pensively, he set course for Zayn's building, letting himself in with the spare key he'd been given over a year ago - all the better for dragging him out of bed when he slept through five or so alarm calls. At first, he thinks Zayn's not there, with all the lights out in the flat. But something tells him otherwise. Then he hears a hollow moan coming from the kitchen, and his stomach drops. He follows the sound, slipping on something sticky on the floor as he grapples for the light switch. 

 

The room is illuminated with harsh white light, and Zayn's coiled form is thrown into stark relief, his lover crying softly as he rocks back and forth with his hands on his knees. He lifts his hand weakly to shield his eyes at the suddenly light, not daring to look Liam in the eye.

 

Liam falls to his knees and softly cups Zayn's gritted jaw, desperately calling his name over and over. 

 

"Zayn, talk to me, what's wrong? What happened? Tell me babe!" he pleads urgently. Zayn can only twist his face back response, pushing feebly at Liam's shoulders to make him go away. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He was never supposed to know. Maybe he'll just leave if he ignores him.

 

"Right, just try to keep calm, I'm calling an ambulance," Liam says, trying to take control of the situation, the smell of blood making his heart clap in his ears.

 

This is enough to jolt Zayn into confrontation. 

 

"No no no no, Liam, no, please. Please!" Zayn weeps, clamping his hands over his belly as he feels the muscles starting to jump and twitch, the spasmodic current building. "There is nothing wrong....with...me. I...will be fine, just...go, please...before...." 

 

His face cracks before he can finish, the contraction pulling with convulsive force, generating a deep guttural scream. He falls back to the ground, tears pooling in his eyes, his gaze focused on Liam. Eventually he regains his breath enough to speak, motioning for Liam to stay quiet. 

 

"I'm in labour," he whispers, releasing the words with a sob.

"Did you...labour! But you're not...I mean, you told me..."

A damp hand grabs Liam's sleeve, pulling his phone away, which he has yanked out ready to dial.

"Nobody knew. Nobody can know. Please, please just go. Let me do this and don't tell anyone and....please, I'll lose everything. I...I know I've lost you...but Liam...the baby...I can't let them take the baby..." Zayn gasped, hitching his breath on a sob, drawing his hands protectively over his bump. 

Liam turns away, a kaleidoscope of emotions hitting him at once. But just as quickly, everything shifts into place. 

"I'm not leaving you, Zayn," he says quietly. 

"And, for what it's worth, if you'd told me years ago...I'd have still loved you. I have no idea what to do, but believe me, you won't have to go through any of this alone, not anymore." 

Zayn stills his hand, eyeing Liam warily. 

"When did the labour start Zayn?" Liam asks, gently looping his arms under Zayn's knees and head, instinctively avoiding jolting his hips, which Zayn is holding strangely rigid. He places a light kiss on his forehead, attempting to calm him down. 

"Since about 3am. I think...the contractions have been coming all day," he whispers, face scrunched with anxiety. 

"15 hours ago...right...first things first, I'm going to get these grubby clothes off you and warm you up a bit, OK?"

Zayn mutely nods his assent as he is lain on the shaggy rug in the bathroom. Liam turns on the taps, then comes to sit at his feet. "Would it be OK if I..." Liam gestures to the sweatpants.

Again, Zayn swallows, and eases back onto the floor, hitching his ankles up weakly for Liam to pull away his ruined pants and trousers. Liam takes the opportunity to peer between his legs.

"No head yet, don't worry," he jokes lightly. In truth though, he'd have preferred it if it did look like the baby was nearly here. He's not sure how much strength Zayn has in him. So far, he looks to be about 3 cm dilated at most, certainly not big enough to push a baby out. It's midnight now, meaning Zayn has been struggling with this for almost a full day, with no respite coming soon. 

Liam gets Zayn settled in the water, hoping it will warm him up and soothe his muscles. While Zayn soaks, Liam hastily assembles some peanut butter sandwiches and a pot of tea. He doesn't recall Zayn touching any food that day, and he's going to need every drop of energy he can get. Then, hands shaking, he calls the clinic.

Zayn has left the number tacked on the fridge, ready for this day, circled in loops of red biro. Although they won't be able to risk helping with the birth, once this most dangerous part is over, they are willing to send assistance, should it come to it. Liam wants them to be on standby to arrive as soon as they can. He's trying not to let the worst case scenarios run through his head, but the grim look in Zayn's eyes tells him everything he can't bear to ask. 

Once Zayn is out of the bath, Liam lines the bed with thick fluffy towels, leaving a stack by its foot for good measure, and lifts Zayn onto his back. "Try and get some rest - I'll be right here beside you," he promises, pulling up a chair to the bedside and laying a gentle palm to cup Zayn's stomach. This time, no hand comes to swot it away. He rubs gentle circles, touching for the first time the hard bump beneath. 

Zayn's eyes are flutter closed, and when the next contraction hits, it barely registers. Liam feels it though, an explosion under his palm that causes Zayn's whole body to tremble. How, he wonders, could he have been so close to the truth for so long and been so oblivious?

Hours pass like this, the contractions growing more insistent, the gaps where Zayn can rest ever shorter. Soon, Zayn is fully awake, gripping Liam's hand with violence to counter the force. Liam tries to be as supportive as he can, but in truth he feels lost, and desperately fearful. If Zayn starts to bleed heavily or passes out, he's made a quiet decision that he will seek other help. But only as a last resort. And he prays it won't come to that. He won't allow Zayn to slip away like this.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the gap between Zayn's legs starts to widen - but not quickly enough. In a moment of respite his face red with strain, Liam takes a second from rubbing away the sweat with a damp cloth to ask a question that's been on his lips since he first found Zayn on the floor, hands as cold as ice.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to but...I am...I am the father aren't I? I'm the reason this is happening to you...I..."

"No! I mean, yeah, you are but, it's me...I'm horrible...I'm the one who...the one who lied and.." Zayn cuts him off, choking on a sob before he can finish. 

In response, Liam kisses Zayn lightly on the forehead, and wipes away a lone tear that runs down his face. Any further discussion is curtailed by a low moan from Zayn. Slowly, Liam loops his body behind him, lifting him with infinite care, and Zayn is straddled between his legs, pushing down with everything he has. 

At last, Liam cups his hands around between Zayn's legs and feels it. The head is making its way down. Zayn's pushing intensifies now, a battle between himself and his body. The pain is like nothing he's ever known, but Liam's voice keeps him focused, coasting from breath to breath. It quickly becomes obvious to Liam that something is wrong.

Minutes fly by, and the baby stays firmly wedged in place. Ziam is screaming into a pillow as the pressure on his already damaged spine intensifies. If the neighbours hear him, they're sure to call the police. Biting his lip, Liam reaches inside Zayn, and presses his fingers around the baby's head, giving a tentative tug. Zayn buckles, but with a few more tugs, things are moving again. 

Suddenly the head and shoulders are out, and then with the last reserves of Zayn's strength, the baby comes, silent at first, and then letting loose a strangled cry, stark and strange in the dim light of dawn as a jagged star in an icy black sky.

Liam immediately places him on Zayn's stomach, the umbilical cord trailing, and weakly, Zayn picks it up and stares into his face, gasping for breath from his exertions. 

"Hello, Adam," he manages to choke out, lapsing into silence.

Whilst Zayn is occupied with the baby, Liam turns his attention to the placenta. If it doesn't deliver properly, there will be heavy bleeding. More so than there already is. Already, the pile of spare towels is rapidly depleting, and Zayn's face is growing paler by the second. 

Liam begins to massage Zayn's stomach, urgently trying to stem the flow. To his relief, almost on its own, the placenta comes away cleanly, and he quickly bundles it up in a trash bag, out of sight. 

Gently, he takes the baby from Zayn, who can barely stay upright to hold it. For the first time, he stares into his son's tiny pink face. And he is tiny - with Zayn's traumatic pregnancy and his early arrival, he is minuscule in Liam's hands. But he's breathing on his own and, miraculously, perfectly formed. 

Zayn gives a weak sigh, and struggles to adjust the pillows behind him. Realizing what he wants, Liam gently places the baby on the bed, and passes him to Zayn for his first feed. Small as he is, Adam instinctively knows what to do, and in seconds, he's latched on. Watching the two, Liam's heart feels like it might burst. 

Once Adam is sated, Liam places him in a basket Zayn has brought in readiness for his arrival, and pads to the kitchen to summon a doctor from the clinic. 

When he returns to the bedroom, Zayn has fallen into a fitful sleep, his discomfort obvious even as he slumbers. Blood is seeping through the duvet cover now, and when Liam places his hand to Zayn's cheek, his skin is burning with fever.

Liam is near hysterical by the time a dishevelled young doctor arrives, armed with medicine, oxygen and blood, concealed in the back of a plumbing van. This isn't the first time they've had to come this way, and he knows exactly what to do. Within minutes, medicine is flowing into Zayn's body, and the doctor is working deftly to stitch him up and stop the bleeding where he has torn in the delivery. 

Liam looks on, Adam cradled firmly in his arms, as Zayn rests. He's out of it for two days in total, still as marble. He barely doesn't flinch when Liam changes the sheets and gently cleans him down, careful not to jolt his stitches. Medics from the clinic come back and forth throughout, battling to quell the infection Zayn's fragile body picked up as he lay on the floor. Although he's had several transfusions, his skin has a sickly grey tint that no amount of sleep seems to cure. 

On the third day, at last, Zayn's long eyelashes flicker, and slowly, softly, he comes back to them. It's still too painful for him to put any pressure on his back, and he's lost his milk with the trauma, but he's conscious and aware, and that's enough for Liam. 

As Liam sponges his feverish forehead, Zayn softly, haltingly, tells him the truth. The years of hiding and isolation are revealed one by one. The months of fear Liam's to behold. Zayn is totally exposed now, and to Liam, he has never been more beautiful or strong. 

Within a week, he is recovered enough to be carried to the sofa, gently rocking Adam and giving him his formula. Within two, he is just about capable of staggering to the kitchen, his legs sleepy and ungainly. Within three, he's ready to be strong again.

\-------

2 weeks ago

There's a soft knock at the door, and, Liam rushes to answer, stroking Zayn's head lightly as he crosses the room. Adam lies in his basket on the coffee table. Zayn hears the low chatter of Liam's sister and her husband in the hallway.

Ruth has been trying for several years now for a child. She's a large woman, and, it wouldn't be inconceivable for her to have been pregnant and not realise. That's what Liam rationalises to himself.

When Liam hands her the baby, her face splits, torn between joy and wonder. Adam's small dark eyes widen, and he stares back at her with something like recognition. He's still so tiny, not even at his due date, and he could easily pass for a brand newborn. At least, that's the hope.

Legs trembling, Zayn rises, giving Ruth and her husband a watery smile.

"Look after him, yeah?" he says to them, Liam rushing to support him. He can't look at Adam. He's not his to hold now. The pair are on their way to the airport. Ruth and her husband will stay in the apartment, and stage a surprise birth over the weekend. In the next week, they'll register themselves as his parents, and he'll be safe in their family forever.

As Liam half carries Zayn down the hall, he asks him one last time if this is what he wants. Zayn nods. They are so young themselves, regardless of the circumstances, they are not ready to be the parents Adam needs. There's so much Zayn has to come to terms with, but they have all the time in the world to do it.

\---------

1 day ago

Zayn lies on the deckchair overlooking their private beach, staring into the sunset. Soon, Liam will emerge from the sea, dripping with salt water and ravenous for dinner. Every day, Zayn gets more confident on his feet. His stitches are healing, and he's feeling stronger and calmer than he can remember. Perhaps this evening he'll be brave enough to attempt a walk along the beach. Maybe one day they'll bring Adam to this beautiful place, and he can learn to swim with his uncles. For the first time in so long, he feels ready to face the future, completely himself, with Liam by his side.


End file.
